


Wildflowers for Chidi

by arcadesintheneighbourhood



Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Family, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 03:43:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15986900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadesintheneighbourhood/pseuds/arcadesintheneighbourhood
Summary: A little story about Chidi and his son.





	Wildflowers for Chidi

Michel has his first anxiety attack when he’s six years old. 

Jonathan is teaching him how to play hopscotch in the park. It seems like a simple game, one that his brother’s played many times before, but Michel starts shaking once he finishes explaining the rules. He has so many questions that his tongue just won’t curl to ask. Why does he have to chuck a rock, and what if he trips when he hops on one foot, and what if he jumps in the boxes in the wrong order and his brother gets mad at him? 

Air leaks from his lungs. His body sinks down with the stone in his hand, and knees smash against the cement. His mom tries to grab his hands, tries pull him off his knees, but Michel only collapses and breaks out into a fresh set of tears. She kneels down to his height instead, using her fingers to wipe his cheeks.

Earnestly, she asks, “Hey, buddy, what’s wrong?” but that only makes Michel cry harder. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, or why he feels so freaked out, or how anyone could feel this way. Why wasn’t there someone who knew what he needed right now? Wasn’t there someone who knew what was going on? 

But his dad takes one look at him and understands. He slips his arms around his shoulders and pulls him closer, stroking his head with his large, gentle hands. 

“Shhhh, it’s okay, buddy,” He soothes. “It’s okay.” 

Michel clenches on to his neck. His nail pinch his skin, and he clings on for longer than he needs to, but his dad never complains; he just rocks him slowly, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. 

He wraps his hand around his dad’s as they walk home. His mom ruffles his hair, narrating stories that make everyone bellow with laughter, and Jonathan chimes in with his own jokes, his eyes bright like his mom’s. Even with all the laughter, Michel falters in the tiniest of pauses. He’s embarrassed and ashamed that he broke down in front of his family, that he had to see him so weak. 

But Michel gazes up at his dad and peace washes over him. His dad is kind and patient and a good listener. He tilts his head when he listens, and he ducks his head down when he chuckles, and his laughter is like the soft music that lulls Michel to sleep. He watches his dad carefully, and looking at him illuminated under the light of the sunset, he knows he never wants to be without him by his side. 

And for the next eight years, he never wavers from it, spending all of his time outside of school and doctor’s appointments with him. His dad is the one who scoops him up into his arms during the slightest tremors, who distracts him with facts about wildflowers, or kookaburra trees, or the weird plants in Arizona that Michel loves so much. He brings Michel to the gardens so he can see the plants that they learn about, and later, they start a garden together, tending to the plants side by side, watching their newly germinated sprouts bloom into vibrant flowers. His dad is the one Kant likes best, and he teaches Michel how to scratch behind his ears and play fetch with him in the backyard. After, Michel follows him into the kitchen before dinner, and he learns how long to simmer the maafe until it’s thick enough to eat. Michel tastes the rich flavors of his dad’s cooking, and he jumps and begs and pleads to pack the leftovers for his lunch the next day. His dad always seals them in a Thermos and he writes him notes that read, “Hey buddy! Have a great day! I love you!”

But something shifts when Michel turns older, and he begins to realize all the ways his dad irks him. He hates that his dad lectures him and his friends on philosophy. He really could care less- Michel’s known the theories of Hume since he was born, and he doesn’t need it explained for the ten millionth time. He also hates how yells goodbye out the car window, and how he never waters the wildflowers enough even though they’ve been gardening for years. Layer by layer, his annoyances build up, until one day, he opens up his backpack and sees his dad didn’t close his Thermos all the way. Brown liquid is all over his papers, his folders, and even the fancy pencil case Jonathan made him, and Michel snaps. What was he thinking? Did he even check to see if he had twisted the top all the way down? 

He decides to close himself off from his dad. He tells him not to touch his garden, and to pack him peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and to let mom drop him off to school. She’s better at giving rides, anyway- she’s funny and charming and all his friends gush about how cool she is once they climb out of the car. His mom basks in the attention, yet still, she tries to convince him to give his dad another shot. 

“I mean, sure,” She admits. “Your dad’s a total nerd, and we all know I’m way cooler than him, but he loves you, and he loves giving you rides. Just let him drive you sometimes, bud.” 

Michel ignores his dad even with her suggestion, even with his dad’s desperate desire for connection. He asks Michel if he wants to take trips to the garden, or if he wants to take Kant to the vet, but Michel just mumbles incoherent sentences under his breath, just puts his headphones in. If they did anything together, his dad would just lecture him about philosophy, or some ethical dilemma, or some other boring thing. He doesn’t want another morality lesson; he just wants to listen to his music. 

And yet, as horrible as Michel is to him, his dad is still there for him through everything. He sits on his bed and runs his fingers through his hair when Michel’s boyfriend of two years breaks up with him for someone else. He rubs his back when Michel doesn’t get into the Sorbonne, his top choice college, and is up all night, throwing up and crying. 

“I’m sorry I’m such a failure,” He heaves as he crouches over the toliet bowl, preparing for his next hurl. 

“What are you talking about, Michel?” His dad asks. His eyes are soft on him as he speaks. “You could never be a failure to me. You have no idea how much I love you. No matter what happens, no matter where you get in, I will always love you. I am always proud of you.” 

Michel wishes he could say sorry for being so awful, wishes he could say thank you for being so unconditional, but he just squeezes his eyes shut and vomits again.

It’s those memories of his dad that seem stronger years later, that at his funeral, burn brightly in his absence, that linger as part of his presence remembered. He wonders what Jonathan and his mom remember as they greet somber guests with smiles on their face. As always, they’re being brave, or at least pretending to be brave. Michel notices that his mom doesn’t touch the shrimp cocktail, and that she starts breathing heavily when she sees the almond milk at the coffee station. 

At night, Michel lies awake with his eyes wide open. He’s replaying all the times his dad spent with him in his childhood bed, reading stories or pulling him into his lap or teaching him about wildflowers during one of their impromptu botany lessons. Around 3 AM, the memories begin to fade, like the time with his dad was just part of a dream, and Michel begins to drift off to melancholy sleep. Just as it begins, it ends with the clash of the pans in the kitchen. Michel gets up to see what it is, thinking the noise was the wind from the open windows, only to find his mother cowered to the kitchen floor, crying into the shirts of her husband wrapped around her. 

Michel slips his arms around his shoulders and strokes her hair. He’s been larger than her for awhile, and she’s tiny in his arms, but he’s never felt his mother like this, so small and fearful and full of sorrow. He never understood their relationship, how they always bickered but ended up in each other’s arms, how they never wanted to be apart even when they fought, how they had nothing in common yet loved each other so deeply, but he knows even though she never liked it, his mother needs maafe right now. Gently, he sits her down on the dining table chairs and gives her some unsalted almonds and hard boiled eggs for the time Michel prepares his favorite stew. It’s been years and years since he’s made it with his dad, but he still remembers how to simmer it to the right thickness. 

They eat their bowls together in silence, but even when they finish, his mom isn’t ready to leave. She puts her hand over his, and she cups his face with the other, and she says, 

“You’ve always been just like him, you know? Sensitive, and kind, and patient, and sweet.” 

“And I’m a nerd too?” Michel jokes. It’s something his dad would do, and he wants to see a smile on his mother’s face. 

“Oh, you’re a bigger nerd than he was,” She grins. “I mean, you know all about peonies and dandelions and carnations. Come on, bud. That’s even nerdy than ethics!” 

They both laugh at his mother’s assertion, and Michel leans on her before he falls asleep.

The next day, Michel buries ashes of his dad in the garden and plants wildflowers in the soil above. 

In honor of his father, he doesn’t water them enough.


End file.
